Rav Avi’s Reflections of Areivut from Sydney – #5
Wednesday, December 24th
Wednesday morning: After tefillah, I had the privilege of sitting with my dear, dear friend Rabbi Ben Elton. I remain in awe of what he has accomplished. When he arrived in Australia to lead the Great Synagogue, it was but a shadow of its former self. Now, as he marks his tenth year, the transformation has been nothing short of phenomenal.
Unassuming yet brilliant, every word he speaks feels like a pearl. Watching him move through his day – interacting with each person with genuine care, making time for those in need, especially during this painful period – one sees leadership at its truest. He has become the steady voice of the community: present for individuals, engaged with leaders of other faiths, and articulate and courageous in the media, both here in Australia and around the world.
To Ben and his dear wife Hinda, my blessings and love.
We return to St. Vincent’s Hospital to visit Geffen, the heroic young man who, together with Ahmed, did all he could to stop the shooter. We sit with Geffen’s father, Meir, who has barely left his son’s side since flying in from Israel. With him this morning is Eshkol, Geffen’s brother, who has completed seven years of service in the IDF and came straight to Sydney to be with his family.
Meir tells me quietly that Geffen is not doing well. The doctors are doing everything possible, but his condition remains critical. After some moments, I ask whether it might be possible to stand near Geffen to say a prayer. We approach his bedside – doctors clustered around him – and with their gracious permission, I draw close.
Geffen still cannot speak, but as I recite the Shema, he opens his eyes. I urge him to hold on, to fight, to push through – and remind him of our agreement: that when, God willing, he recovers, we will dance together beneath his chuppah. It is hard to step away. I feel an unusually deep connection to him.
Two beds down is Elon. When I first saw him this past Shabbat, he was sedated and unconscious. Now he is awake – still in pain – but surrounded by his sister and family. We speak and we pray. Yevarechecha Hashem v’yishmerecha…ve’yasem lecha shalom. May God bless you and guard you…and give you peace. In that moment, shalom reveals its deeper meaning – not only peace of mind and spirit after trauma, but shalem, wholeness. May Elon merit a complete healing of body and soul.
Wednesday afternoon: We hurry to the major cemetery, where a monument is being unveiled in memory of Rabbi Eli Schlanger, the son-in-law of the head of Chabad in Australia, Rabbi Ulman.
From a special area designated for Kohanim, I can see the back of the monument and hear a circle of Chabad rabbis reciting Psalm 119, spelling out Rabbi Eli’s name. I am told that at his funeral, grief was so overwhelming that some fell upon his coffin. Here, in classic Chabad fashion, they stand strong.
Rabbi Ulman speaks briefly, acknowledging that we are permitted – even compelled – to ask God “why.” Beautiful words of poetry are recited, portraying the life of Rabbi Eli: a young man of open heart and constant smile, devoted only to doing good. That such a life was cut down is devastating.
As the ceremony ends, I embrace Rabbi Ulman and whisper the words from these weeks’ Torah portions: Mah nomar, mah nedaber, u’mah nitz’tadak – what can we say? There are no words. We hold each other in silence.
A meeting has been arranged with the Premier, Chris Minns, led by Rabbi Ben Elton. Seated with us are Rabbanit Judith Levitan – whose leadership in Australia has been extraordinary – along with Rabbi Amitai and Rabbi Mike.
Rabbi Ben opens the meeting and exchanges thoughts with the Premier. Rabbanit Judith adds her reflections. When my turn comes, I thank the Premier for the moment we met in synagogue, when I shared Congressman Torres’ letter and offered the priestly blessing, and for his deeply empathetic response – his admission of shame that such horrors occurred on his watch.
Respectfully, I do not mince words. I tell him that while I recognize he is a state leader, I have a significant request: that he publicly challenge the Prime Minister to do more. To demand more.
I explain that while I am not a security expert, experience teaches that attacks of this nature are never the work of isolated individuals alone. Anyone serious about justice must investigate not only the shooters, but every step they took in the days leading up to this unspeakable act – and who helped them along the way.
I remind him of Argentina, where investigations revealed that the AMIA attack had roots in foreign embassies. I urge that all relevant diplomatic sites be thoroughly examined here as well, noting that the Palestinian Authority, that also has an embassy in Australia – despite its rhetoric – has deep Hamas influence and continues its “pay-for-slay” policy, rewarding families of those who murder Jews.
I tell him plainly that the massacre was so vast and complex that it exceeds the capacity of Australia’s security services to fully investigate on their own. True leadership, I say, requires the humility to recognize both what one knows and what one does not. Precisely for that reason, Australia must reach out to countries such as Israel, which have acquired deep, hard-won expertise in counterterrorism.
I tell him that my first words to President Menem of Argentina, when I met him immediately after the AMIA bombing in July 1994, were: “Why Buenos Aires a second time?” I was referring to the Israeli Embassy attack two years earlier. Because the perpetrators of that first attack were never brought to justice, a deadly message was sent – that such atrocities could be committed with impunity. That failure paved the way for the second massacre.
Having shared that lesson, I tell the Premier plainly: if the Bondi massacre is not fully and rigorously investigated, it will, with certainty, happen again.
The Premier listens closely. He speaks of political complexity. I respond that while politics matter, there are moments when one must stand simply because it is right. I invoke Mordechai’s words to Esther: This is your moment. If you act, you will be remembered. If not, the moment will pass.
Looking into the eyes of this young leader – who has offered comfort, spoken well, and shown empathy – I repeat: this is your moment.
We had remained in daily contact with the Prime Minister’s office, hopeful for a meeting. At first, his secretary responded, saying she was trying to make it happen. Then the messages stopped. Silence.
Wednesday evening: Through the kindness of James and his wife Yvonne, I am invited to speak at Kadima Synagogue, led by Rabbi Dov Rapoport, son of the great Rabbi Chaim Rapoport. His father’s book on Orthodoxy and homosexuality profoundly shaped my own evolving understanding of halacha’s treatment of the LGBT community.
After Mincha and Maariv, the community gathers. I speak about family – about the Jewish family – and our obligation to speak truth to power. To demand answers. To insist on accountability. And yet, at the same time, to respond to hatred with love, with kindness, with good deeds.
Questions follow – questions filled with fear and uncertainty. What should Jews do when confronted by hostility? How should they respond if they feel leadership is not doing enough? I answer as best I can, acknowledging how much I do not know.
Later, one of the rare moments of rest: James and Yvonne take us out to dinner. James shares a story that brings everything full circle – how he was bar-mitzvahed at the Hebrew Institute of Riverdale when it was still the Hebrew Institute of University Heights; how, after losing his mother in 2007, the Bayit was there for him, carrying him through shiva. Jewish family, across continents and decades.
Returning to the hotel, I share a final embrace with Rabbi Mike, a musmach of Chovevei – a young man of extraordinary talent, compassion, and promise. He will do great things for Am Yisrael.
I offer one last prayer of thanksgiving to God – for allowing me to witness the next generation of leadership: Rabbi Ben, Rabbi Mike, Rabbi Amitai, the women of Maharat – Rabbanit Judith, Rabbanit Nomi, Rabbanit Adina, and Maharat student Chanchkie – standing with the wounded, the bereaved, and the brokenhearted.
It is their time to carry this sacred work forward, raising it higher and higher.
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On a deeply personal level, this journey weighs heavily upon me as I reflect on my rabbinic spiritual activism. Throughout these decades, I have tried, in my small way, to be present – to contribute – whenever our people have been in need. And yet, after all these years, it is profoundly dispiriting that the attacks, the hatred, and the threats persist.
Now I return to the United States, where a real antisemite, Mamdani, ascends to the mayoralty, and my concerns deepen further still.
How I wish there were no need to express Jewish pride through struggle – through standing up to those who seek to harm us. How much I would prefer to devote myself wholly to proactive avodat hakodesh: to spend my days learning, writing, and teaching Torah, and – in my small way – to inspire all of us to make our people, and the world, more beautiful.
Sadly, heavy clouds gather on the horizon, and we are compelled to stand up for Jewish dignity – with Hadar Yisrael, with love and with strength. But I know that it is no longer my time to lead the way. That task belongs to the next generation. I am confident they will rise to the moment. May God be with them, and guard their going out and their coming in, as the saga of our history – of us as a people and as a nation – continues onward.
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Returning to the United States, I am overwhelmed by layers of emotion – so many strata, so many levels. One, in particular, deserves special mention: the blessing of witnessing musmachim and musmachot from Chovevei Torah and Maharat living the rabbinate in soulful, uplifting ways.
I have already spoken about Rabbanit Judith, Rabbanit Adina, Rabbanit Nomi, Chanchkie, Rabbi Mike and Rabbi Ben. Now my thoughts turn especially to Rabbi Noah Leavitt, who flew to Sydney from Cleveland. Noah serves as the remarkable spiritual leader of Cedar Sinai Congregation, a community he has helped grow to new and inspiring heights. He felt a particular pull to come to Australia, having served as Rabbi Ben’s assistant for seven months many years ago. Seeing former congregants joyously embrace him, watching him visit the sick and comfort the bereaved – and yes, even making sure to get in some early-morning surfing and swimming – brought me immense nachat. He is a gem.
My partner throughout the trip was Rabbi Amitai Fraiman, who completed Chovevei ten years ago and now serves in a vital leadership role in the Palo Alto community. Amitai, who served in the IDF tank corps, stood at my side every moment – anticipating my needs and ensuring that whatever was required, he would be there to help.
Together with Rabbi Mike, he carefully mapped out our schedule, remained in constant contact with people on the ground, and arranged our visits to the sick, the wounded, and the bereaved. Even more moving was watching Amitai offer his own words of support – in hospitals, in homes, and in communal spaces – bringing comfort and uplift to those in pain. Amitai, this experience has made us chaverim le’olam.
I thank God for allowing me to witness our rabbis – from Maharat, from Chovevei, and from the Bayit – serve in their own voices and in their own ways, elevating the rabbinate to new and higher levels. It is their time. They have become my teachers – my rebbes. Eizeh bracha.